


Pride in Her Bruises

by DChan87



Category: Arthurian Mythology, Arthurian Mythology & Related Fandoms
Genre: Bruises, F/M, Fluff, Not From Merlin, Pre-Badon Hill, References to Monty Python, Scottish Guinevere, Tsunderes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-06
Updated: 2015-04-06
Packaged: 2018-03-21 15:42:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3697817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DChan87/pseuds/DChan87
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the eve of a historic battle, Arthur treats Gyanhumara’s (Guinevere) bruises she recieved in a tavern brawl.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pride in Her Bruises

**Author's Note:**

> You know you’re a shipper when you write fanfic for Arthurian Legend of all things. Whatever. This is influenced by the novel Dawnflight, which I’ve been engrossed in lately, and it’s pre-Badon Hill Arthur and Guinevere (here called Gyanhumara). I like the idea of Guinevere as a firey Scottish lass much like Merida. Hey, I have a thing for tsunderes.
> 
> Also, look for references to The Once and Future King and Monty Python.

“I’ve never known a woman who takes pride in her bruises,” Arthur said while wrapping bandages around her fists and knuckles. Of course, he’d never met a woman such as Gyanhumara, the Caledonian chieftainess with an attitude to match her fiery red hair.  
  
“You say that like you’re ashamed of me,” she said, her voice quivering in delight at what she’d just did. To say the least, in his 23 summers, Arthur had never seen a woman fight off every man in a tavern like they were clay pots.  
  
Although, the unfortunate side effect was written all over her face like graffiti on the streets. She sat on his bed, covered in darkened bruises on her face, arms and possibly even body, although Arthur was hesitant to check there. It would not be proper of him to do so. But he insisted that he, not his servants, attend to her. A few bruises and no cuts were simple enough for the young Pendragon to treat. “You need to know when your limit is,” he said. “Ten drunken pagans is one thing. Thirty of them is another.”  
  
“Do you want me to stop because I am a woman?” she asked, her green eyes narrowing at him.  
  
“I never said or intended that,” he said whilst dipping a rag in a bowl of cold water to administer to her cheek. She winced when he did that, but relaxed and let him do his work. “I was just reminding you that everyone has their limits. Even my best soldiers.”  
  
“Your best soldiers are weaklings,” the Caledonian lass spat.  
  
“There’s that arrogance again,” he muttered. “To be honest, your fighting spirit is admirable. I sometimes wish my men had the same courage as yours whenever battle the Saxons.”  
  
“Is that why you need me?” she asked.  
  
“Oh, in Lord Iesu’s name, no,” he replied. “Oh dear, I have just broken the 2nd Commandment.” He hastily prayed to himself and kissed the Cross hanging from his neck, a gesture which made the follower of the Old Ones roll her eyes, but she couldn’t help but smile. “My apologies,” he continued. “All I know for certain is that you make a wonderful ally.”  
  
“As an equal?”  
  
“Absolutely,” he replied. “I would be honored if you fought by my side to rid Brydein of the Saxon foe. And together, we could unite the island!”  
  
“And yet you always say that might does not make right,” she said.  
  
Arthur sighed and hung his head, knowing that she had him there. “Of course,” he said. “I was just being… what is the word… idealistic.”  
  
“Idealism is a good thing,” she said. “Perhaps you don’t need to unite them by force.”  
  
“That would be preferred,” he said, dipping the cloth back in the bowl of water resting on his bed. He gently took her calloused hand and wiped the cloth on her bruised, but soft skin of her arm. He smiled again. “You’re beautiful.”  
  
She huffed. “No I’m not,” she said. “At least, not to the likes of you.”  
  
“Even with all the bruises?” he asked. “I have never met a woman as fierce and beautiful as you.”  
  
“Och, how many times have you said that?” she asked. Arthur quickly looked at his fingers and counted in his head.  
  
“Three times.”  
  
The chieftainess scoffed. “You’re daft. In fact, you’re an even worse magician than Merlin is if you think that’s all.”  
  
“I could never be a magician like that,” he said as he gently pressed down on a large bruise on her bicep, causing her to wince and hiss.  
  
“Och, don’t press so hard!” she said.  
  
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m just glad you’re alright.”  
  
“Don’t start that up again or I’ll scare your horse next time!”  
  
“Gwen…” he sighed. “You are  _very_  difficult.”  
  
“Is that bad?”  
  
“It depends on the situation,” he replied. “Although I would prefer it if you not get angry every time I try to help.”  
  
“You’re not entitled to my hand—”  
  
“I know I’m not!” he replied. “I just want you to calm down.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” she said. “You pressed too hard on my arm.”  
  
“I know, and I apologize,” he said. He gently took her chin in his hand and examined her face. He grimaced when he saw a rather large welt on her left cheek that a larger country-dwelling man had given her. “Does that bruise hurt?”  
  
“Are you daft? It’s just a wee flesh wound! What!?”  
  
“I’m sorry, I had a dream recently where I fought a man who would not back down after losing all his limbs,” said Arthur. “And he said those very words!”  
  
“A bruise is a flesh wound, not a lost limb!” she replied.  
  
“Of course,” he said. “I just—” he made eye contact with her and froze up. Gently, he looked at her lips, and she seemed to be receptive, closing her eyes and moving forward so her lips could meet his.3  
  
“ARTHUR! I HAVE RECEIVED—oh.” Bors barged into his chambers, carrying a scroll, but catching the young royals in the middle of a kiss, with both of them staring at him awkwardly.  
  
“Bors!” Arthur said, standing up and glaring at his second-in-command. “Please, knock or at least announce your presence when you enter!”  
  
“My apologies,” Bors said with a bow. “But we have received word from the front. The Saxons have begun to move upon the fortress at Mons Badonicus.”  
  
Arthur stopped and glanced at Gyan, before his mind was made up. “We leave tomorrow morning. Inform our soldiers and the Caledonians at once!”  
  
“Yes, sir!” Bors bowed and left the chamber, leaving Arthur to sit back down and rub his face.  
  
“Why do I get the feeling this is a vital battle?” he asked. “That my name will become legend?”  
  
“Because of your arrogance?” she replied.  
  
He laughed and kissed her forehead gently. “I would be honored if your warriors fought alongside my soldiers in defense of our land.”  
  
Gyan gently smiled at him and kissed his cheek. “As would I,” she said.


End file.
